


Marie

by onlythefinest



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Knight!AU, medieval!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4302075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlythefinest/pseuds/onlythefinest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which witches can be rather wily, and Nixon finds out the hard way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marie

**Author's Note:**

> lbr friends I fucking love this medieval!au I will write it until the day I die. enjoy ~

“Technically I’m in charge until Dick gets back, so actually I could order you to go back to bed.”  
                “You wouldn’t,” Nixon says, voice gravely and sore-sounding, but he smiles and Anne returns the gesture.  
                “No,” she says, and she turns her gaze back to toward the village below. The sun was falling low, set fire to the thatched roofs and stone of the huts. Anne rests her elbows on the top of the battlements and sets her chin in her hands. “I wouldn’t. But that doesn’t mean I _couldn’t_.”  
                Nixon clears his throat, coughs a few times and pulls the thick fur cloak tighter about him. He had been sick for days, had caught something like a cold after he’d spent a day training in the cold rain. A few of the other knights had gotten sick as well because of their poor judgment.  
                “I should have gone with them,” Nixon says after a moment, and Anne straightens, looks at him.  
                “You heard what Dick said,” she says. “You would have been worth less than a copper piece if you’d gone while you were sick. It’s better you stay here and get better for when he gets back.”  
                Nixon presses his lips together, coughs a little in the back of his throat. Anne is right, of course. Dick was right as well, when he said it would be better for Nixon to rest up so he was in top shape to go on a more dangerous jaunt, should one arise. As it was, this trip Dick took was simply to go to the western villages to collect taxes and see that they were well set in their harvests. A relatively non-hazardous trek, especially with the knights who hadn’t gotten sick accompanying him.  
                “I suppose,” Nixon says, and he smiles a little. Anne pats his shoulder, lets her hand rest there for a moment.  
                “He’ll be back before you know it,” she says.

& & &

It’s well after sunset that evening when there’s a commotion in the village. People shout on the outskirts and one of the soldiers standing watch on the battlements descends to find Anne. He finds Nixon first.  
                “Sir,” he says, and he bows. Nixon is tending to his mare, thick cloak still about his shoulders. He should have been in bed. If Anne saw him out and about again she would have a fit. The soldier raises his head. “Commotion in the village, sir.”  
                “Commotion?” Nixon asks, and he leaves his mare to the stable-hand and follows the soldier to the battlements. He looks over where the villagers have gathered, torches in hands, shawls wrapped around shoulders. Some are shouting at the woods several dozen yards away from the last hut. Nixon frowns, tells the soldier to gather some others and follow him.  
                Nixon drops the thick cloak in the armory and pulls on a mail shirt, buckles his sword-belt around his hips. He and a few soldiers head out the gate and toward the gathered villagers. Nixon doesn’t have to ask what’s happening because one of the villagers sees them approaching.  
                “Sirs,” she says as she scuttles toward them. “Lights, sirs. In the trees. Will o’ the wisps if I ever did see them.”  
                Nixon looks over the heads of the villagers and toward the woods, where there are pale lights floating near the ground. They extend back and disappear into the trees. The woman wrings her hands beneath her shawl.  
                “Witchcraft, it is,” she says. “Miss Lemaire’s daughter followed the wisps into the trees, but no one’s brave enough to go after her. Not with a witch about.”  
                Nixon coughs into his hand and moves through the crowd. Miss Lemaire is in fits near the front, is being held back by one of the stronger men in the village. The soldiers follow Nixon warily, stop by some of the villagers and eye the lights in the trees. Nixon sets his hand on Renee’s shoulder and she stops crying for a moment, wipes her eyes with the corner of her shawl. Nixon looks back at the soldiers.  
                “Get everyone back to their homes,” he says. “And tell the princess what’s going on.”  
                The soldiers nod and start to usher everyone back toward their huts. Nixon goes toward the lights in the woods, keeps one hand on the hilt of his sword as he goes. When he approaches the first light it extinguishes with a small gasp. Nixon frowns, coughs and moves more quickly. Each light he approaches extinguishes with a gasp. Nixon stops and the few lights remaining stay alight, floating, pale, flickering like lanterns. He squints through the darkness for any sign of Renee’s daughter, strains his ears to hear any sound out of the ordinary. There’s nothing for a long moment, no sound or sight or sensation, then Nixon hears a quiet, muffled cry and he continues forward.

& & &

“And you _allowed_ him to go alone?”  
                The two soldiers sent to inform the princess of what happened wither under her gaze. One musters the courage to speak and he raises his head a little.  
                “He sent us to take the villagers home and inform you of what happened, miss,” he says. “An’ those will o’ the wisps are bad business, if you don’t mind me saying.”  
                “I mind you saying,” Anne says, and she pulls a cloak about her. “Ser Nixon is still ill—he should have someone with him.”  
                She sweeps past the two soldiers, heads for the courtyard of the castle. She’s surprised to find so many more soldiers and knights about. It takes her a moment to realize they’re members of Dick’s envoy and she hurries through the crowd, finds her brother near the gates of the castle still mounted on his horse. He’s listening to a soldier near him relay what had been happening in the village.  
                “And then Miss Lemaire’s daughter followed them lights,” he says, and Dick frowns, looks  at Anne as she approaches.  
                “Nix went after her,” she says. “Alone. Dick, he’s still ill he shouldn’t be traipsing through the woods after witches by himself.”  
                Dick dismounts and hands the reins to a waiting stable hand.  
                “Where are the lights?” he asks, and the soldier gestures to the village. Dick and Anne follow him to the edge of the village and he stops short, rubs the back of his neck as he looks at the dark woods.  
                “They were right here, sire,” he says. “I assure you.”  
                “You can’t go after him in the dark,” Anne says, and she turns back to the soldier. “Two torches. Now.”  
                The soldier nods, bows and runs toward the village. Dick stares into the dark trees for any sign. Anne searches the trees with him and doesn’t see anything, not even a distant will o’ the wisp that might give them some direction. They stand in silence, searching, until the soldier returns with the torches.  
                “Tell Ser Speirs to collect some soldiers with torches to follow us,” Dick says, and the soldier nods. Anne is already moving toward the trees and Dick hurries to catch up with her.  
                “We’ve never had witches come this far south,” Anne says as they head into the trees. She looks at her brother, who frowns and sets his hand on the hilt of his sword. He still wore his plate armor, hadn’t had the time to change into something more practical for traipsing through the woods. Anne had dressed quickly in a pair of trousers and a blouse when the soldiers had told her, had grabbed the cloak as she left her room. She knew she could move quicker than Dick if speed was necessary.  
                “Why do you think she’s here?” Anne asks, and Dick shakes his head.  
                “I can’t even venture a guess,” he says. “It could be luring Renee’s daughter was a mistake. Not all witches mean ill.”  
                “Or she could be looking to make child-stew,” Anne says and frowns. “I’m more willing to consider the worst outcome over the best.”  
                “As am I,” Dick says. “But we shouldn’t attack without cause.”  
                He stops suddenly, puts his hand up and Anne listens. There’s a faint crying nearby and they go toward it. After a few yards they find Renee’s daughter huddle behind a round stump.  
                “Marie,” Anne says, and the girl looks up and the crying begins anew. She stands, blubbering, and Anne pulls her into a hug. “Marie—what happened?”  
                “I followed them lights, your highness,” Marie says. “But I tripped and banged up my knee, and then I couldn’t see the lights anymore but I didn’t know my way back.”  
                Anne looks back at Dick, who turns his gaze to the rest of the woods. Anne looks back at Marie.  
                “Did you see Ser Nixon?” she asks, and Marie shakes her head.  
                “I didn’t see no one, your highness,” she says. There are voices and more torches from the village and Anne can see the lights wavering through the trees. She straightens, looks at her brother.  
                “We should wait for Speirs,” she says. “We can send someone back with Marie, but Nixon is still out here somewhere.”  
                Dick doesn’t look at her but nods, still searches the dark woods for a sign. Speirs is next to them in a moment, several soldiers behind him with torches. He looks down at Marie, who is dirty with tear-streaked cheeks, but very much alright.         
                “Send someone back to the village with Marie,” Anne says, and she ushers Marie back toward the circle of torches. Speirs designates two soldiers to escort her back and they bow, take her between them and head back toward the village. Speirs looks out to the dark woods.  
                “And Ser Nixon?” he asks, and Anne frowns.  
                “No sign of him yet,” she says.

& & &

Nixon had followed the sound of the faint cry and the disappearing will o’ wisps to a large clearing. In the center is a massively round and unreasonably tall tree with a twisted trunk and dark branches. The will o’ wisps stop at its base and Nixon draws his sword, moves forward cautiously. He doesn’t notice the perfect ring of mushrooms that circles the tree, steps between two of the fungus as he comes forward. There is another small cry and in the starlight Nixon sees a small shape at the base of the tree. He sheaths his sword.  
                “Marie,” he says, and he moves quicker, crouches next to the girl. She looks up at him with tear-streaked cheeks.  
                “I wanna go home,” she says, and Nixon quietly coughs, nods and helps her to her feet.  
                “That’s where we’re going,” he says, and he takes her hand. It’s cold but so is the forest around them. He looks around for any sign of the witch who crafted the will o’ wisps and sees nothing. He and Marie start forward, pass through the fairy ring and Nixon feels his chest tighten and he coughs, stops for a moment just outside the ring and coughs into his hand. Marie looks up at him, frowning.  
                “Are you okay?” she asks and Nixon nods, clears his throat and nods again, more to reassure himself than her.  
                “Yeah,” he says, and they start again.  
                He moves slow so Marie can keep up, but she doesn’t seem to be bothered by the pace and keeps a tight grip on Nixon’s hand. He pauses again to cough, feels an ache in his bones he hadn’t felt since the first night he was sick.  
                He has to stop again and he puts his hand against a tree to steady himself. He loosens his grip on Marie’s hand but she holds firm, says, “Please don’t let go. I’m scared.”  
                He looks at her and she stares up at him with wide, frightened eyes. He swallows hard, kneels in front of her and ruffles her hair.  
                “Hey, I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says and she smiles a little. Nixon feels lightheaded as he straightens, takes a moment to compose himself before they continue on.  
                Marie seems to see the torches through the trees before Nixon because she jerks at his arm to stop him. She points and Nixon follows her gesture, sees blurry lights approaching through the branches. He moves his hand to the hilt of his sword.  
                “Those are bad people,” Marie says, and her voice is low and menacing and she tightens her grip on Nixon’s hand. “They want to hurt me. You have to stop them.”  
                Nixon closes his eyes and breathes for a moment, can’t sort through the muddled mess in his head. When he opens his eyes again the blurry lights are closer and they burn a deep red. He coughs again and the ache in his bones is worse, throbs deep in his chest and he can’t think straight. He draws his sword and grips it tight.  
                When the torches finally find them they’re being wielded by dark and monstrous things, with white eyes and shadowy bodies. They stop when they see Nixon and Marie, and at his side Marie squeezes his hand so tight it hurts.  
                “They’re _bad_ people,” she hisses. “Beasts to be slaughtered. You must protect me.”  
                “I must…,” Nixon says, and he closes his eyes and sways for a moment, and one of the creatures speaks. Nixon doesn’t understand it, hears only garbled sounds and snarls. Marie is taller suddenly, and her voice is laced with one deeper, colder. It whispers next to Nixon’s ear.  
                “You must protect me,” it repeats, and its words overlap as it speaks. “Hold my hand awhile longer, ser knight. Protect me from these things and hold my hand, because I am so very frightened. Please, ser knight.”  
                One of the beasts snarls and takes a step forward and another pulls it back. Nixon faces them and raises his sword again, but his hand is unsteady and he doesn’t strike.  
                “Witch,” Anne spits, and she is ready to surge forward again but Dick stays her with a hand on her arm. There is a woman holding Nixon’s hand and a dark mist surrounds her, swirls and moves like smoke. She flicks her red eyes around at the faces of the knights, grips Nixon’s hand tight and leans close to him.  
                “He _will_ protect me,” she says, and her voice is cold and raspy. “Or he will die trying.”  
                “Let him go,” Anne says. Dick looks at Nixon and Nixon looks back, but he stares through Dick like he doesn’t really see him. He closes his eyes again and sways at the witch’s side.  
                “What do you want?” Dick asks, and the witch bores her eyes into him.  
                “My freedom,” she says simply. “You allow me to go free.”  
                “And him?” Dick asks. The witch pulls Nixon imperceptibly closer to her.  
                “I’ll need protection, of course,” she says. “At least until I find someone stronger. If I had known this one was ill I would have chosen better.”  
                Anne looks urgently at her brother and Dick frowns, doesn’t draw his sword. He shifts from one foot to the other.  
                “Perhaps we can offer you a trade,” he says, and Anne looks so shocked she sputters, “ _What_?”  
                “A trade?” the witch asks, and she is so focused on the offer she doesn’t see the archer move through the trees beside her. Dick doesn’t look at Shifty, instead keeps his focus on the witch, who is staring at him with rapt red eyes.  
                “Yes,” he says, almost thoughtfully. “Would you consider a king fair trade?”  
                The witch stares at him for a long moment, hand still tight around Nixon’s. The black mist is around him as well now and the witch seems darker, her eyes redder.  
                “Perhaps,” she says, and then she snaps her head toward Shifty with a loud hiss.  
                She had heard the arrow too late, had turned her head in time to have it pierce her eye and stick and she screeches, an unholy, grating sound that sounds like steel on stone. She screams and a black blast bursts from her, knocks Anne and Dick and the other knights and soldiers to their backs. Half a dozen black shadow figures materialize from the ground as they pick themselves up and the witch is shrieking, “Kill them! _Kill them!”_  
                The shadow figures come forward and so does Nixon, still bewitched, and the soldiers draw their swords. The shadow figures hiss as swords tear through their ethereal bodies, reform immediately and surge forward. One of the soldiers ushers Anne to the back of the fight while Dick meets blades with Nixon.  
                “Lewis,” Dick grunts as their blades slide off each other. “It’s me. Fight her. I know you can.”  
                The witch is still screaming and Nixon appears not to have heard Dick. Even ill and bewitched he is still the best swordsman Dick has seen, and it’s difficult to keep up. Nixon’s mail shirt provided far more maneuverability than Dick’s full plate armor and Dick takes several blows from Nixon’s sword. They pierce nothing, are unable to do anything more than scratch the plate but it’s only a matter of time before Nixon finds a weak point. The witch has pulled the arrow from her eye and is on her knees, face in her hands. Several of the shadow figures disappear of their own accord and for a moment, Nixon falters.  
                Then the witch raises her head and screeches and more shadows materialize and Nixon tightens the grip on his sword and comes forward. Dick parries his swing and takes a few steps back, says, “Lewis, _please_. I won’t hurt you.”  
                Nixon ignores his words again and comes forward. He blocks Dick’s strike, ducks under the second one and brings his sword up, catches Dick’s sword to close to his body and pushes him back. Dick can’t maneuver with his sword against his chest and he sidesteps, spins out of the trap and Nixon follows with his blade, swings it high and the tip barely catches Dick’s cheek as he moves back. Blood blossoms and runs down his face and he raises his sword. Nixon’s sword is raised and he and Dick circle each other.  
                And then Nixon is crumpling to the dirt, sword dropped, and Anne is standing behind him with a large rock in her hands. She looks up at her brother and says, “Grab him” and bends to pick up his sword.  
                The witch has withered without Nixon to siphon energy from. She kneels on the ground, her shadow figures dissipating into the gloom, and Anne approaches with Nixon’s sword in her hand. The black mist around the witch wavers and Anne raises the sword. The witch screeches and lunges, and Anne brings down the sword, slices neatly through the witch and with one final, echoing scream the creature evaporates into the night air.

& & &

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?”  
                Nixon turns from the balcony. Dick comes out into the early morning light with two mugs full of steaming tea. He offers one to Nixon.  
                “Probably,” Nixon says, and he wraps his hands around the mug and sets it on the balcony, keeps his gaze on the pre-dawn shadows of the village below. Dick follows his stare, brings the mug to his lips as he watches several villagers move around. Renee and Marie are carrying empty baskets toward the market. Dick looks at Nixon.  
                “How are you feeling?” he asks, and Nixon offers a small shrug, finally takes a sip of tea.  
                “Like I’m sick all over again,” he says after he swallows. His voice is still gravely and rough. He looks at Dick with a small smile. “Though the headache’s new.”  
                “I’ll pass your grievances to Anne,” Dick says, and Nixon laughs, coughs immediately but laughs through it. He clears his throat and smiles.  
                “Yeah,” he says. “I’m sorry I had to miss her killing the witch. I bet it was quite the sight.”  
                “One I’d like to never see again,” Dick says. He appreciated Anne’s quick thinking and action, but he would rather avoid witches altogether for the foreseeable future. Nixon nods and sips his tea. He glances at Dick, looks at the small, healing cut on his cheek. Dick misses the look.  
                “Remind me to watch out for fairy rings next time I follow will o’ wisps into the woods,” Nixon says, and he looks back down at the village.  
                “What I ought to do is put an armed guard on you the next time you’re ill,” Dick says, and he smiles a crooked smile and Nixon scoffs.  
                “You wouldn’t,” he says, and Dick shrugs and sips his tea.  
                “That doesn’t mean I _couldn’t_ ,” he says, and Nixon groans and says, “Now you sound like Anne.”  
                They stay on the balcony until the sun finally rises over the trees, finish their tea in silence as cockerels begin to crow in the village. Dick takes Nixon’s empty mug, holds both mugs in one hand and takes Nixon’s elbow with the other.  
                “You do need to rest,” he says as they move slowly back into the king’s chambers.  
                “Is that a command, highness?” Nixon asks and he grins, and Dick smiles and leads him to the edge of the bed.  
                “No,” he says. “Call it a request from a concerned party.” And he bends slightly to give Nixon a kiss.  
                He gets Nixon into bed, pulls the duvet over his legs and kisses him again, straightens and picks up the tea tray from where he’d left it on the low table. He tells Nixon he is going to tell the cooks to make up a breakfast tray to be brought up.  
                “And then you’ll be back?” Nixon asks around a yawn. Dick smiles and nods.  
                “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll be back before you know it.”


End file.
